Beneath her feet, the damp and soft moss and meadow squished as she made her way through the dense jungle of the island in the dead of night. The swaying trees cast vague, flickering shadows like a silent crowd, while glowing insects fluttered around her, enveloped in the dim blue speckles of light. Even the moon in the sky seemed pale and ghostly, as if an illusion.

  Yvette felt as though she were in a dream. She had been here before, yet now it felt utterly unfamiliar.

  She was not asleep, yet she was dreaming. All of this was beyond reality.

  "We're here," Dr. Monis stopped by the pool formed by a spring and pointed to the shimmering surface of the water. "Tens of millions of years ago, an ancient, divine colossus was struck through its unthinkably vast egg sac by another being of equal greatness. The fatal blow pierced its resilient flesh, staining the ocean with its blood. Even today, the dazzling, unearthly hue of that ichor remains undiluted. When the right person comes here, they can see everything through it—the truth flows into this place like water into a valley, converging upon those who stand here."

  "You said… Why were the two gods from your dream fighting? From the outcome, neither side gained anything… They were immortal beings. What could possibly drive them to so easily cast aside their endless lives?"

  "This…" Dr. Monis did not know why Yvette was asking such a peculiar question, but he answered honestly. "I have no answer for that. But from what I saw in my dreams, they did not seem to be fighting over anything. Before that moment, they had never even met. They were natural enemies, like predators of the jungle encountering one another—conflict was inevitable, that kind of feeling..."

  Hostility without reason. Though the many-breasted goddess had defeated the colossal egged deity, she too eventually succumbed to weakness and tore at her own offspring until they perished together.

  Yvette had witnessed the end of the Flesh-Mountain Ancient God in her dreams—its corpse was also being devoured by its followers. Even the remote village's bee god, during its transformation, feasted upon its own kin, the hybrid villagers…

  It was as if there existed some bizarre impulse that drove these terrifying supernatural beings to consume their own kin. Were it not for this, perhaps this world would have long since been ruled by such abominations.

  Both she and Dr. Monis had dreamt of the deaths of these ancient gods. Yet, the causes were never slain by legendary heroes—instead, they fell to infighting, nameless plagues, or being devoured by their own kind.

  And logically so. Any sane being, upon catching even a glimpse of their enormity—even as a phantom in a dream—would know that mortal strength could never stand against them.

  But if she could harness the power of another god… Could she suppress the increasingly restless thing lurking in the depths of her soul?

  That was Yvette’s thought as she stepped into the position Dr. Monis had indicated.

  She was in the right place. The moment she stood still, the glowing insects of the forest converged toward her, turning the darkened woods into an ocean of light. The spring beneath her feet also began to glow, the water reflecting countless versions of herself—each face deathly pale, expressionless, like porcelain masks… or bloodless corpses.

  "This is beyond belief… A personality comprised of countless fragmented shards, like viewing a kaleidoscope through a lens—unparalleled perfection! A diamond’s brilliance arises from its many facets, and human intellect must likewise stem from multiple faces. What kind of power could concentrate such an unimaginable gift into a single being?"

  Dr. Monis’ envious exclamations grew distant as the light from the pool intensified, eventually flooding Yvette’s vision. Then came the brittle sound of something shattering.

  Something thin and fragile—was it an eggshell? Or a mirror?

  She could not tell how much time passed before the light faded, her vision clearing to the sound of birdsong, her nose filling with the familiar sting of antiseptic.

  "Awake? I just opened the curtains for some air—was it too bright to sleep?"

  The familiar-yet-unfamiliar voice made tears well up in her eyes instantly. In her memories, whenever she woke, this woman was always there—her face lined with faint wrinkles, her warm, dry hands softer than anything else, her smile piercing like sunlight through glass, straight to her heart.

  All at once, she was back, far from the cruel, dark world where she held high status and health but never peace or freedom. The churning stars, the blasphemous aberrations, the world gasping under the weight of anomalies and human cruelty—it made her shudder just to recall.

  How could such a hopeless place exist? Then it must have been a dream—

  A long, despairing dream soaked in the stench of blood.

  Curled up in soft, clean bedding, she let the tears that did not belong in this world seep into the sheets and pillow. Like a larva curling in a warm cocoon, she shifted slightly, wishing to sink deeper, deeper, to sleep again and replace the nightmare with something sweeter.

  "Sleeping again right after waking? Should we go for a walk?" Her mother asked with a chuckle.

  Yvette mumbled something incoherent and pulled the covers tighter, pretending she was still half-asleep, hiding her reddened eyes.

  "Alright, I’ll go buy some groceries. Be up by nine, okay? The doctor said meals should be regular."

  As the footsteps faded, she sniffled under the covers. After a moment, she reached out blindly to the bedside table, fingers finding her phone where it always charged.

  She didn’t dare keep reading. The further she went, the more her breathing grew ragged, as if something had seized her ankle, dragging her backward into unseen depths.

  Was it her mind playing tricks? Or mere coincidence amplifying suggestive hints? Either way, this didn’t feel like the world she knew.

  When Yvette woke, tears rolled down her cheeks uncontrollably, shattering her reflection in the pool below—where the mirrored version of herself stood clad in scales, encircled by serpents, so vivid it felt real.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The vision faded like mist. It was false, an illusion—an offering from the fallen god of this place. Yet within it lay things beyond her imagination.

  The Colossal-Egged Deity had whispered a secret in her ear: The Sleeper Creator’s gifts are not free. She would have to trade—with a passage to another world.

  What an absurd world?

  Before the truth revealed its terrifying form, Yvette could only peer through the thick fog, observing the jagged outline of the monstrous beast lurking within, trying to piece together and reconstruct the real information. But now the behemoth stirred. What she had believed to be its full shape turned out to be nothing more than a minuscule fragment exposed above the surface...

  The Old Gods and their kin climbed from above. Though not abundant, this world still harbored supernatural forces of chaos. In contrast, her original world was one built entirely upon science and natural laws—a perfectly ordered, material place. To the Old Gods, it must have been unimaginably alluring.

  How Yvette wished she had never learned this deceitful truth. But now she understood it clearly—no, more than understood. She had experienced it firsthand, in a way entirely different from mere words. She comprehended everything yet knew nothing. The bone-deep sensation left her trembling helplessly in the face of the world that enveloped her.

  Some secrets should never be shared—yet now she knew this one, a secret kept from her by another version of herself.

  That must be the reason why that other self wanted them dead. They were the same weak-willed, feeble creatures. What that other self could not resist, she—judging by her own flaws—would surely fail to withstand as well. And that other self knew it too. She was painfully aware of their wretched nature. She believed their fate was an inevitable fall, always held back but never stopped. No matter how many struggles or coincidences intervened, the descent was constant, until one day they reached the very bottom.

  Even now, she remained conscious. Perhaps her Old God was simply waiting—waiting for her to rise high enough, to gather enough strength to breach the gap between worlds. She would become the traitor’s gate, allowing the ravenous darkness of this world to spill into a paradise utterly unprepared.

  The surrounding light faded as if the island had exhausted its last reserves of power. Yvette looked down at the grotesque face reflected hazily in the dark water and let out a beastly laugh from her throat.

  "One day... I will be like Pandora opening the box, like Eve accepting the apple... The source I was given is nothing but pitiful, laughable—thirty pieces of silver... Judas used it to betray Jesus, and received the same reward... Ha... hahahaha..."

  How strange—her mind was eerily calm, so this alien voice couldn’t possibly be her own.

  I still retain my reason. I know full well that I am lost, and that I have forgotten the way back.

  "We don’t fear death itself, but what lies beyond it. If that day truly comes, every remaining step we take will merely tread upon the thorns of regret... You feel the same, don’t you? The truths pile upon us until we can’t breathe. Rather than be crushed by them, branded as despicable traitors, perhaps we’d rather end it all—at least to protect those we love most... You also wish to die here? Wonderful. So do I."

  She spoke to the reflection in the water. The words came from the same lips, yet it felt as though two different souls were conversing. The reflection smiled gently and nodded—was that real?

  She couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that she’d been ensnared in some vile, horrific scheme. Maybe it was just fear of this world—or a desire to escape. Whatever the reason, death at least would put an end to this mistake. Death was the ultimate order. Any madness or wavering would fall silent within this leaden fortress. It was the only way a mundane, ordinary human like her could defy a god.

  I regret everything. I would do anything to atone.

  Yvette’s hand trembled as she raised it, pressing the gun barrel against her own temple.

  Meanwhile, Dr. Monis observed her with patience. The god buried within this place had granted him many revelations. Every night since his arrival, he had transcribed the messages passed to him under the glow of flying insects. For the Old Gods did not communicate through crude vessels like language—they imparted knowledge directly into the mind. Compared to the vast intelligence of those immortal beings, human cognition was pitifully feeble. He could sense the god restraining itself, carefully avoiding overwhelming him—yet he still slipped into delirium more than once. If he failed to record each revelation the moment clarity returned, those precious fragments would scatter into incoherent shards, lost to the tides of thought.

  The words Dr. Monis wrote were fragmented and contorted, like the ravings of a fever dream. Even the babble of a madman was more coherent. Yet amid the chaos, certain motifs recurred: imagery of the Messiah, moths, and self-destruction.

  The god had told him that only a soul like hers—one drawn to destruction like a moth to flame—would recklessly chase that scorching light until ensnared by an Old God from another world. He had to be cautious. If she regained freedom, she might well hurl herself into the fire by accident.

  When transcribing this passage, the god’s visions of ruin seemed to infect his very fingers. A dozen quills prepared that day snapped after barely a word, leaving him no choice but to slit his fingertip with a penknife and continue in blood.

  Now, the shackles on her mind had shattered. Dr. Monis lunged forward in an instant, meaning to wrest the gun away—but her strength was that of a Valkyrie. Her slender wrist might as well have been iron. He barely managed to wedge two fingers behind the trigger.

  "Aaaagh—!" Dr. Monis howled as agony coursed through his bones.

  He had halted the trigger’s pull, but Yvette didn’t stop. She simply pressed harder, forcing it backward as if squeezing oil from a press.

  For Dr. Monis, it was torture akin to having his fingers crushed in a vise. The pain nearly blinded him. He wasn’t sure if his bones had snapped.

  "...W-wait—! This won’t... solve anything... Aaaah! I have... a b-better way..."

  Yvette relented. Dr. Monis yanked his swollen, bruised fingers free. The usually dignified occultist now stomped and blew on his hand like a man who’d grabbed a red-hot poker.

  It really was that painful.

  Thankfully, Yvette’s frenzy seemed to subside—though her bloodshot eyes still burned with violence. If his answer failed to satisfy her, he might not get a second chance.

  "First, I must emphasize, Mr. Fey," Dr. Monis said, his face twisted with pain but voice carefully measured, "Death is not a universal truth. It is unique to this world alone. Every other form of supernatural being is eternal. The Old Gods themselves are undying—when they spawn their kin, the act drains them, reducing their power. Even so, those lesser entities remain immortal.

  "The rest of existence operates on a simple zero-sum principle—the loss and gain of life force always balance to nothing. That is the true universal constant. But here? A couple may birth a dozen children without diminishing themselves. A seed becomes a towering tree without stealing from others. Don’t you find that bizarre?"

  "Get to the point." Her voice was hoarse.

  "Have you encountered the Ouroboros? The serpent devouring its own tail? It symbolizes destruction and rebirth—the perfect cycle of life and death. Among the oldest mythological symbols, it appears in Aztec ruins, Mesopotamia, Egypt, and beyond. Ancient sages across time and space left us this same wisdom. There must be meaning in that. What if death is not what we assume? What if it—and life—are merely aspects of an incomprehensible entity, the cycle flowing from its head to tail, never-ending? The truth of this world’s existence?"

  The Old Gods knew nothing of death—until they came here. Thus, the anomaly is this world itself. In exchange for the risk of mortality, they gain the power to create life—no longer forced to spawn kin by division, like slicing a cake.

  Perhaps that explains why the Old Gods brave death to explore this place. Birth and death are two sides of a coin—risk and reward, balanced. Even gods cannot resist.

  All this may have been the design of a slumbering creator—a rule set apart from the dark monotony of the cosmos. Countless lifeforms evolve, mutate, thrive within this system. But the creator itself cannot wake. Already an unmoving paradox—neither alive nor dead—its awakening would shatter the fragile world like a soap bubble.

  If so... then death holds no meaning to it. How can she wield the creator’s own aspect against it?

  "If death is merely its instrument," Dr. Monis pressed, "then your act only hastens the flow from head to tail. You remain within the loop. Should it will, you would be plucked like a jewel from a chest—reborn elsewhere, unaware. Maybe next time, in ignorance, you’d make the choice you fear most. And never know your past self fought so hard against it."